Could they really begin anew and learn to trust each other? Her heart swelled at the thought. She sent him a tremulous smile, and he dropped her hands, reaching for a goblet.
She took it, sipping the fortifying wine while he walked over to the desk.
“Midnight supper.” Carrying the platter, he dragged the chair over to sit by the tub. “Will you have some bread and cheese?”
She nodded, surprised to find herself suddenly ravenous. “I’m worried, Trick. About Hamish and Niall.”
“Aye?” Balancing the platter on his knees, he cut a slice of pungent cheddar. “What makes you worry?” he asked, tearing a hunk of bread and handing them to her together.
“Things haven’t gone well here since your father—the duke—took you away.” She nibbled on the bread. “Jane told me he cut off your mother’s allowance, and she had to dismiss most of the servants.”
Taking a hearty bite of bread, he nodded as he chewed. “I guessed as much, noting the state of this place.” He swallowed and washed it down with a gulp of wine. “I asked Niall about it on our long trek to Burntisland.”
“And?”
“Hamish does well for himself in the cloth trade. But other than allowing him to make up back pay for the servants, Mam refused to take his money when he moved in.” In three big bites, he polished off a slab of cheese. “Stubborn woman. She may not have been as bad as the duke had convinced me, but she was far from perfect.”
“None of us are,” Kendra reminded him. “Will they be all right here, then, do you think?”
“Aye, with Hamish’s help. And Niall is planning to visit Amberley later this year and learn some more progressive farming. Scotland is behindhand, it seems. I thought maybe you could help him with that.”
His steady confidence did much to strengthen her belief in this fresh start of which he’d spoken. And Hamish and Niall would be fine. She sagged with relief, draining the rest of her wine.
“Feel better now?” he asked.
“Immensely.” Everything was working out perfectly.
“Good.” He rose and took the goblet from her hands. Was that a gleam she saw in his eyes, she wondered, or was it only that she wasn’t used to seeing them so clearly?
She got her answer when he began peeling off his clothes.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Joining you. I’m grubby as anything.”
“B-but…together?” She half rose out of the tub.
With a hand on her shoulder, he pushed her back down. “Together.”
“You’re jesting,” she said. “And you’re hurt.”
But the way he held her gaze made it clear he wasn’t jesting at all. “Aye, I hurt a bit,” he admitted. “I trust you’ll treat me gently.” Opposite her, he stepped into the water.
Though she was consciously looking elsewhere, a flash of white drew her eye to his body. “Your bandage!”
“Stop being such a worrywart, lass. I’m more comfortable with it on.” As he lowered himself, he nodded toward her tattered chemise. “There’s another where this one came from.”
He emitted a small grunt of pain as he settled, but that didn’t seem to signal any loss of enthusiasm. His lips went to hers immediately. Lulled by the taste of him, she moved closer. Smiling against her lips, he reached for the soap behind her head.
“I’m hurt. I think you need to wash me,” he suggested, holding it out.
At the silky tone of his voice, heat flooded her cheeks, and when she took the soap, it slipped from her fingers and plunged to the bottom. His teasing smile only flustered her further while she fished in the water for the hard-milled ball. But when she brought it up and its scent wafted to her nose—her lavender fragrance, not his sandalwood—a rather wicked idea took hold in her mind.
Languidly, she passed the soap back and forth in her hands. “I’ll wash you,” she told him, “but only if you promise not to move. Not your arms, not your legs, not anything.”
“Not even my head?” He lurched forward and stole a kiss.
Her lips tingled as she firmly pushed him back. “Not even. Not even one inch.”
Contemplating that, he ran his tongue over the chip in his tooth. “Why?” he asked.
“You’re injured. You mustn’t strain yourself. And besides…” Her lips curved in a smile. “I wish to play Poseidon and rule these waters.”
“Heart’s wounds,” he breathed, his mouth hanging open.
That made her smile grow wider. “Do you trust me, Trick?” she asked playfully, lathering her hands—though in truth she held her breath for his answer.
“More than anyone I’ve ever met.”
The quiet sincerity in his voice made her eyes prickle with thankful tears. But she wasn’t about to cry at a moment like this. Instead, she reached to close her husband’s mouth for him, leaving a froth of soapsuds on his chin. He made to wipe it away.
“Uh-uh,” she said, catching his hand. “No moving, remember?”
His lopsided grin made her heart flip over. “My deepest apologies. It won’t happen again, leannan.”
“Good.” And with a happy sigh, she leaned forward to take his lips in a kiss.
SIXTY
DUNCRAVEN SEEMED lighter the next morning.
When Kendra woke, the chamber seemed brighter, and the walls seemed to hold fewer secrets. No ghosts lurked in the tower stairwell. She found herself almost sorry to leave.
But Trick was in a hurry.
“I want to deliver what’s left of the king’s treasure. Get it off my hands.” He latched his trunk. “And I want to get back to Amberley. Although…”
He watched her look up from tying a garter. “Although what?”
“It shouldn’t be mine.” He’d been thinking about that ever since he’d had other obvious facts pointed out to him—that Annag and Duncan were his siblings, and that he wasn’t really English at all. “Amberley, and the dukedom. By rights, by blood, they shouldn’t belong to me.”
And the shock of it was, he found that disturbing. Mere months ago he hadn’t wanted Amberley at all, hadn’t wanted anything that came
